


Rookie Pranks

by Lady_in_Red



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Canon Compliant, F/M, Ficlet, One Shot, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Team Bonding, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 16:34:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8852182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: Ginny needs a little help from Mike after finding her clothes missing at Spring Training.More theoretical season 2.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this gif set for this one. [Megaphonemonday](http://megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/post/154480022481/maybetwice-oddlyfamiliar-megaphonemonday)
> 
> Not set in the same universe as Golf Partners.

“Lawson!”

Everyone in the Peoria clubhouse looks up at Ginny’s bellow. Her cubby is around the corner in a closet, just like at Petco, but she’s loud enough she might as well be standing next to him.

Mike gets up, slowly, because now the guys are watching him. Except Cristiello and Melky, who are in the corner laughing. His right knee cracks as he rounds the corner. Five more minutes and he can have his damn ice bath.

Baker’s head is poking around the edge of the door, and she’s got murder in her eyes. “Give me your shirt,” she hisses.

“What?” 

“Give me your shirt. Now.” Ginny’s bare arm, still damp from the shower, reaches around the door. Her hair is still wet too. The Peoria facility doesn’t have any nearby showers she can use. She has to pass through the clubhouse and a block of offices before using the grounds crews’ showers. 

Mike strongly considers saying no. He’s wearing his favorite hoodie, 15 years old and fraying at the cuffs, stretched out and soft and unwashed for years. He wore this the morning before he hit his first grand slam, and it’s been his good luck charm ever since. The last few years he’s taken to wearing it before his ice baths. His knees and back can use all the luck he can get. 

“Please.” The desperation in her voice decides him.

Mike unzips the sweatshirt and hands it over, waiting for her to explain. 

Ginny’s door flies open, slamming into the wall as she barrels past him. Wearing nothing but his sweatshirt, which barely reaches mid-thigh. She stops in the middle of the clubhouse, where half the team is still getting dressed. “Who took my clothes?” 

She keeps looking around, waiting for the culprit to identify himself, but Mike’s eyes turn straight to Melky and Cristiello, who have both gone pale. They should. She looks like some kind of revenging angel, and she’s going to make them pay. 

“Well?” she growls. 

They’re all staring open-mouthed, Robles utterly frozen with his shirt still half-buttoned, and Mike is certain she neither knows nor cares that this is hands down the sexiest she’s ever looked. And his sweatshirt is the only thing between her skin and their eyes, and that should not be such a turn-on but it is. 

Livan saunters in, a tiny towel wrapped around his waist, taking in the scene. He glances at his cubby, and Mike follows his gaze. Duarte’s clothes are missing too. “Isn’t it a little late for rookie pranks?” Duarte asks, dropping into his chair with little regard for the fact that his towel isn’t covering much of anything. 

Mike turns back to Ginny, whose anger is ebbing. “Rookie pranks?” she asks, her rage dulled.

“We never did it, ‘cause you got hurt,” Melky stammers, and Mike makes a mental note to put those two through the sexual harassment seminar again. 

Ginny’s shoulders slump. She’s told him how often her teammates in the minors schemed to see her naked. She had every right to assume this was the same thing. 

“It’s all in the laundry,” Cristiello pipes up. 

“Go get it,” Mike orders, turning his full glare on Cristiello. “Duarte’s too.”

Blip walks in, takes one look at Mike barechested, Duarte flashing his junk to the whole team, Ginny in Mike’s sweatshirt, and shakes his head. He drops into his chair next to Mike. “Did you bring the hammer down?” he asks, watching Cristiello and Melky dash out of the clubhouse. 

“Not yet,” Mike answers under his breath. “Not with Ginny around.” 

Blip nods. “I want in on that.” He glances at Ginny again, as she turns and walks back to her closet trying vainly to pull the hem of the hoodie down her long, toned legs. “Is that your--”

“Yes.”

“And you let Ginny--”

“Yes.” Mike does not want to talk about this. Blip has been giving them the eye for months, and since Ginny decided they are not talking about whatever happened between them, Mike’s not going to talk to anyone else about it either. 

The guys go about their business, Melky and Cristiello delivering a pile of clothes to Duarte and Baker. Mike waits to make sure Ginny doesn’t need to talk. Most of the team is gone by the time she comes back into the clubhouse wearing leggings and a fitted tank.  

I overreacted,” she says, handing over his sweatshirt. If her eyes linger on his bare chest a little longer than necessary, Mike’s not going to call her on it. Not today.

“You didn’t. They were out of line.” Mike stands and shrugs back into the hoodie even though it’s still damp. It smells like her soap and shampoo, and he doesn’t mind that at all.

She sighs. “In San Antonio it was worse. They found out my ex made the majors and they propositioned me all the time. I was so relieved to go up to El Paso.” 

Mike makes the connection in a flash, and he feels like an idiot for not figuring it out sooner. “Davis?” 

Ginny nods and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “We weren’t teammates or anything, but…” 

“I won’t tell anyone.” Mike moves toward the clubhouse door, hoping she’ll follow, and she does. “Does Blip know?” 

She smiles. “Yeah, he was there the night I met Trevor.” 

They part ways at the door to the therapy room. Ginny lingers a moment, and he catches her gaze drop to his chest again. 

“What do you think?” he asks, tapping his new tattoo. His number, exactly as it appears on his jersey, is inked in Padres colors above his heart. 

She smiles, the dimple flashing in her cheek. “It looks good, but you didn’t need to prove anything. Your heart was always here.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It is.”


End file.
